Invitation of Truce
by Ivyyyyyy
Summary: Christmas is supposed to be fun. For Danny, it's hell. Usually.


Tiny white flakes filtered down from the inky black sky, the stars barely visible behind the thick veil of dark clouds. Lights littered the chilly snow-lined streets, strung from door to roof to utility pole, twinkling brightly with a plethora of color. Decorations of all kinds were propped everywhere. Trees glistening with ornaments and shining tinsel glowed in windows of homes with roaring fires.

Christmas Eve had rolled around again, and Danny hated it.

He shifted through the crowd of people streaming along the sidewalk, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. A grumble rose in his throat as at least five different last-minute shoppers stepped on his feet like his converse were a part of the cement. Head down, he bundled his face further into his scarf and made his way to the edge of the cheery, rushed group.

With no real purpose, he came to a stop under a lamppost, to the front of a side alley. He watched the river of people scurry about like escaped rats.

He wasn't exactly sure about why he had even come out here. Maybe it was because he'd cracked after hearing his parents' annual argument start right back up again. Maybe because he wanted to rant in his head and have a well of people to mentally scream at. Or maybe it was because Jazz had been bugging him nonstop about her theory that the ghosts would rise up and attack while the town's guard was down, even though that would be breaking the Christmas truce.

Right. The truce. Danny hadn't heard a whiff of a single specter, old Boxy included. Inwardly he realized that that should have made him especially happy, but he was still just so _angry._ He clenched his fists in his pockets, seething. Maybe he was cursed.

His ghost sense went off then, wafting up from under his scarf as icy breath.

Yeah. Definitely cursed.

He swiveled expertly on his feet, bolting down the alley and leaving the streetlamp behind. He ducked behind the rear of the building—a general store—and let his twisting core bend over itself, warping and flipping into his transformation. The instant he was Phantom he took off, zipping above the buildings in search of his new misplaced aggression.

Narrowed green eyes roved over the rooftops, looking for even the slightest hint of a ghostly glow.

Quite easily he found it, a small ghost that looked to be some kind of messenger, bag and all, hovering in a back passage twining between secluded warehouses. The thing looked like a medieval mailman in that garb.

Angrily, Danny swooped down, ready to attack. To his surprise, the puny ghost held up its tiny tattered gloved hand.

"_**H**__a_**l**_**T!**_"

For some reason, Danny stopped. Got confused. Angry. His eyes blazed hot green and he lunged at the small ghost again. He found he couldn't budge much closer; he was being held in place by some invisible force, like large clamping hands were holding him there.

He was fuming. Sure, he had the thermos right there on his back, but there was that itching need to _punch _something creeping into his hands.

It looked like his misplaced aggression had turned into displaced aggression.

The little ghost seemed serious enough, and not at all intimidated, even being the size of the freaking tooth fairy. Looking like it was straight out of a black and white movie about the middle ages, it calmly approached him, stoic beady red eyes narrowing.

"_Listen you little—"_

The infuriatingly tiny thing _bowed._

Danny stared; felt his mouth hang open.

"S_**I**__r __**P**_**h**_**A**__n__**to**__M__**."**_

The thin, near-skeletal spirit rose, not seeming to be affected by Danny's astonished expression.

Then the halfa finally regained his composure.

"_Yes?_" he hissed out.

What even was this?

The miniscule messenger simply dipped his head, and a glowing green envelope snapped into existence in front of Danny's nose. He made a grab for it, staring at it for a moment before ripping his gaze to the drably dressed figure.

The messenger ghost hovered for only a second longer before it winked out of visibility, leaving behind the whisper of garbled words.

"_**d**__O_**n**'_**T **__b_**E **_**L**__A_**t**_e_."

Danny's boots hit the ground with a soft _thunk_. Whatever had been rooting him in the air had released its hold.

In his hands was a parchment envelope with _Phantom_ scrawled in neat, orderly calligraphy on the front.

"Huh."


End file.
